The Mummer's Dance
by Silent Steel
Summary: Sometimes, the word simply come flowing from you . . . One late night, while listening to Loreena McKennit's 'Mummer's Dance', this slowly developed in my head. Stars Filia, but many of the rest of the cast show up as well. A sequel to 'Skelling' of sorts


Notes   
The song The Mummer's Dance is copyrighted to Loreen McKennit, and is being used without permission here for no profit or otherwise any type of monitary exchange. I don't own Slayers or it's Characters, and am not accepting any money for them either.   
  
This does get a little ... erotic, so please, if that offends you, don't read it.   
  
  
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~When the springtime of the year   
~When the trees are crowned with leaves   
~When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew   
~Are dressed in ribbons fair   
  
Firia took a deep breath, braiding her hair back from her face in the last of the preperations for the fall festival, the ribbons entwined in her hair shining in all the colors of autumn, browns, oranges, reds, and yellows. With meticulous care, each one of the three plump braids was pinned to her head by wood combs, ancient combs of ash and oak wood, passed down through her father's line. The plain, finely woven, undyed silk of the simple sleeveless dress she wore swished gracefully inches above the floor as she turned to check the water clock. Three minutes left, before she would have to be down in the great hall. Snagged the girdle she was to wear over the dress, Firia dashed out the door, fastening the wooden clasp, made of woven birch and yew twigs, of the girdle as she ran.   
  
~When the owls call the breathless moon   
~In the blue veil of the night   
~The shadows of the trees appear   
~Amidst the lantern light   
  
The night of the omias ... the one time in the century the full moon would be in eclipse with the second moon, the moon Omiso, a night when the two were in eclipse at the opposite ends of their cycles. The night when Omiso would fall into the phase of darkness, the night of it as a new moon ... . It could be a night of horror, a night of joy, a night of sorrow, a night of romance, but in all things it was a night of power.   
  
Insence burned in the small lantern that swung at Firia's waist, thin trails of white-pink smoke trailing from it with every motion. Crisp leaves cracked, crunched, and crumpled beneath her bare feet, but she barely felt them, or the cold flagstone and bare mud that made up the path. The path she walked was ancient, as old as the race that built it ... it had only been recently that she had learned that only one of her heritages had built that path, that the other had only just barely started on their path to sentience when it was made.   
  
So many things she'd found out had been lost .... Firia stifled a shriek of startlement as a large owl, less than two feet away, hooted at her from one of the trees, surrounded by the tree's flickering shadows. It watched her with it's large, icey blue eyes as she walked past. She passed by it, only to look back in startlement. Blue eyes for an owl ... no, they were yellow, as any owl's eye's would be. Strange ... for the split second of first gaze meeting ... she had thought she saw ... intelligence behind those eyes. Shaking her head, she turned, and continued on the path, fitting her voice back with the other shrine maidens and priestesses, rising and falling in a chant older than their race. In her mind, the icey blue of that split second merged with the greater blue of the night sky above.   
  
~We've be rambling all the night   
~And some time of this day   
~Now returning back again   
~We bring a garland gay   
  
They sounded so beautiful ... . a strange pride filled his heart as he sent the owl into the night sky above the path, following Firia for as far as it could. Down the path into the cavern ... the end of the path, and thus his ability to follow. With a somewhat reluctant sigh, he unwound his mind from the owl's, and retreated back to his body.   
  
"Love, I'm hungry."   
  
His wife's voice, clear as crystal, and just as tomboyishly cute as ever ... even seven month's pregnant, her voice hadn't changed.   
  
"What, are you suggesting that we put this on pause simply because you're hungry?"   
  
"Hey! I'm feeding more than myself, now!"   
  
Fingers twining through her hair as he tilted her head for a kiss, a chuckle slipped from him at the mischevious annoyance in his wife's eyes. She poked him in the stomach with a finger.   
  
"And you're the one who got me in this situation to begin with!"   
  
He grinned, and stepped closer to her, abruptly wrapping his arms around her waist as well as he could before nipping her neck.   
  
"And you loved every second of it."   
  
Her blush was all the response needed to cause him to start laughing again.   
  
~Who will go down to those shady groves   
~And summon the shadows there   
~And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms   
~In the springtime of the year   
  
Firia stepped into the small chamber that would be hers for the next thirty-six hours ... a chamber formed by the entertwined brances of trees so old that they had survived since the birth of the oldest of the elder's grandmother. Without a word, she picked up the wide, nearly flat bowl that rested in the center of the floor on three little legs, and stepped back outside to fill it full of water from the spring in the main chamber.   
  
Upon returning to the room, she placed the bowl, now full of clear, cold water, into it's previous place on the floor. The silk of her dress rustled sofly as Firia sat down, neatly folding her legs under herself as she prepared for the next part of the rite. Her breathing slowed as she sank into a trance. Seek, the mind reveals, wait, the mind unfolds, hunger, the mind captures ...   
  
In front of her the water in the bowl began to ripple, to slowly begin to turn ... and yet, not once, spill beyond the rim of the bowl. It spun, and in turning, slowly rose up out of the bowl until it formed a smoothly rippling column just a little taller than she was when she stood, waiting patiently for her to perform the next step of the rite.   
  
Firia stood, unclasped and unwound the girdle from about her waist, then let the dress fall from her shoulders in the soft hiss of silk. Bare now from the waist up, she removed a small wooden pendant that had hung around her neck, nestled between breasts, close to her heart, for the past ten years. The pendant was clasped between her hands, hiden from sight, for just a few seconds. And when her hands opened, what she held was not wood, but a single glow of light, shaped almost like a heart ... . the glow lifted, and drifted smoothly to the pillar of water, coming to rest within at the heart-height of any that might have held that height.   
  
Once the glow was in place, the shape of column began to change, to glow, to become more humanoid of shape ... more male ... shadows, shadows that had been there in the chamber, shadows that had been growing there, begin to stream towards the water, becoming a part of it, wrapping about it, giving it finer shape and definition ... even a faint amount of color.   
  
Firia's hands lifted to her head, and slowly, dreamily, she unwound the braid, using the combs to keep her hair back from her face still ... . the ribbons she lifted free, and seperating them, began winding them around the figure of shadow, light, and water in front of her. She only vaguely noticed the leanness of his legs, the strength inheirit in the shape of the hands, the width of the shoulders, narrow hips ... She did feel a faint surprise at the apparent length of the hair as she used the second to last ribbon to bind it back from his face, to braid the silky waves partially down his back ... the last ribbon was looped around his neck, and then around hers ....   
  
In the final test, Firia now opened her eyes ... eyes that would have opened wider in wonder and rage if she had not been locked in the deep trance of the rite. As she was, she only felt a surprised wonder, and growing accptance of an old truth. He, and it was indeed he, opened gem-bright eyes to look at her, and gave her a faint smile.   
  
~The song of birds seem to fill the wood   
~That when the fiddler plays   
~All their voices can be heard   
~Long past their woodland days   
  
Birdsong began to herald the newly-dawning day as the shrine maidens, the successfull ones, lead their summonings out into the main chamber, where the fiddler waited. No one knew who or what the fiddler was, but his role was accepted and unquestioned. He had lived for far too long for his place in this not to be accepted. The fiddler studied the summonings as they stepped after the maidens, and he knew many a male, and a few females, were having incredibly erotic dreams right now ... His eyes widened briefly as he took in the shape of the one following Firia ... indeed, he would have been surprised anyways, the one she lead was taller than any of the others ... but this was a face he knew well. So, that was how things had fallen ...   
  
But no, there was nothing he could do, and he did have a task to do now. With an inward sigh, he lifted the fiddle, and set the bow to it's strings ... the first note hovered in the air, sweet as clear spring water, sensual as the rose, as clear as the crystal dug deep from the mountains. And then dove headlong into song, weaving and dancing the tune around the birdsong heard throughout the glenlike main chamber.   
  
Hands were clasped, eyes met eyes, and the maidens swung their summonings into the dance.   
  
~And so they linked their hands and danced   
~Round in circles and in rows   
~And so the journey of the night descends   
~When all the shades are gone   
  
The dresses were long left behind, flung aside in the abundant energy of the dance, as the dancers circled the fiddler, following the notes he played. The abundant friskiness of spring, the dedicated work of the summer, the slowing carefulness of fall harvesting, the slow sweetness and warmth of the winter hearth ... all of those were in the song, and it ran the full gamut with all the vivid enjoyment that a child show's life.   
  
In the slow evenness of the last of the song, the warmth of winter rich and sweet in the chamber ... many a kiss and carress were stolen on both sides, of summoning or maiden ... all under the watchful eyes of the fiddler.   
  
Some simply followed the steps of the dance, respectful of each other, showing all the courtesy of true friends. Those he noted, knew that the maidens had no true love yet, and mentally made a note to speak with the elders at next opportunity to let the maidens visit some of the other clans.   
  
Some were all over each other, barely paying attention to the steps. Those he also noted, and made mental notes to notify parents where to direct their offspring towards in the regards of marriage.   
  
But one pairing caught his attention above all others. Firia and her summoning. The followed the steps of the dance with a sensual grace that bespoke of ease with themselves and with each other ... but there was none of the normal kissing and cooing that was going on with the other such couples ... instead they were a respectful distance from each other, and to any other's eyes, would have appeared just friends. But there was somthing to their expressions, something sad, wistful, longing ... the faint flush across her cheeks bespoke of much warmer emotions than mere friendship ... and yet ...   
  
His eyes widened yet again, a surprising thing in such a normally placid being, and even more unusual, his eyebrows rose and tried to nest in his hair. He had realized what that look was ... love known, and known to be doomed ... unusual. But the fiddler did not let his surprise allow himself to falter in the rite, and he brought the music to a smooth close, with a faint tickle of notes heralding the anticipation for the next time this rite would be done.   
  
The music fell silent, a silence of evening ... and then the first cricket chirped. At this unspoken signal, ribbons were unwound, releasing the summonings to return to whence they had come. Some simply seeped into the ground, some scattered and flew like birds ... but one turned gem-like eyes to look calmly at the fiddler as he simply faded away ... winking and placing a finger over his lips in a motion of silence before the details became too indistinct to make out such a normal gesture.   
  
~A garland gay we bring you here   
~And at your door we stand   
~It is a sprout well budded out   
~The work of Our Lord's hand   
  
Xellos jerked awake, and fell back against the bed, panting as if he had been running. His body was wet with sweat, and his heart, normally a slow, steady thing, beat like mad ... almost as fast as a human's would beat normally. It seemed as if fire raced through him and did not harm, simply filled him with a hunger soul-deep and truer than night falling into day, and day into night ...   
  
Shaking, he lifted one tightly clenched, white-knuckled hand up where he could see it. Slowly, almost as if afraid to see what was held within his fist, he forced his fingers to open, to reveal what lay in his hand ... a wooden pendant, simple, carved with a stylelized form that mimiced a golden dragon ...   
  
His hand snapped shut around the pendant as the doors to his room slammed open, and his master stormed into the room. She moved to the side of the bed and eyed him, showing nearly as much concern as annoyance. "You've been asleep for twenty-four hours, Xellos."   
  
Voice raspy from lack of use and a dry throat, Xellos tried to answer clearly. "I am sorry, Master, but I have no explanation as to why ... just a dream."   
  
She eyed him. "One you obviously enjoyed immensely."   
  
He blushed as red as a boy, for some reason a bit embarressed about the state he was in. Xelas shrugged, and turned to leave. "Whatever. Take care of that and clean yourself up, then meet me in the main chamber for debriefing on your next task." 


End file.
